


Show and Tell

by Haldane



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Biting, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House receives a piece of paper with an odd string of characters on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show and Tell

House was never afterward able to pinpoint the moment that the slip of paper was planted in his jacket pocket, which probably should have bothered him more than it did. Obviously there were only half a dozen possibilities, narrowing to two, but which one of those two hardly mattered. 

There was only one word, about a dozen letters long: _FIOJlYJvHC3_. That was all. Printed on a common laser printer, on a sheet of stock standard paper, then cut into a strip for easier handling. House twirled it gently in his fingers and began thinking. _Coordinates? Password? Bank account number?_

His mind presented a double handful of possibilities, and he shook them off irritably. Narrow it down first. Too short to be a cipher of any sort. Too long for a PPTH patient file number. 

Given his restricted mobility, perhaps an Internet account ID? House scowled. Impossible to guess which site it might belong to, and IDs were no use without passwords. He knew he was missing something, and looked at the physical slip of paper again, noting the clean edges and neat fold. It had been planted on him deliberately, which meant it pointed to something he could access. Someone expected him to recognise it, or at least thought he had enough information to work it out.

At that moment his phone rang. He put the paper away in his desk, and pushed the puzzle into the back of his mind.

~~~~~~~~~

Of all things, it was a bowl of fries that gave him the key. The combination of a cold day and hunger had driven past the vending machines and into the PPTH cafeteria for something hot. Waiting for his change, he idly scanned the cheery notice taped to the cash register.

**PPTH Cafeteria: Follow us on *your* social network site!**

**Daily menus and more available through:**

**Facebook  
Twitter  
Youtube**

His stomach twinged at the idea of a video tour of the kitchen area; there were things he preferred not to have confirmed. Social networking sites indeed - a way to throw out private information into a public forum, sharing with any random stranger who happening to be passing.

Sites open to everybody. Sites everybody was expected to be familiar with. A place to put information to be collected by somebody else.

Five minutes' work at home that evening, and it seemed that his lead had turned to dust in his hands. Those sites were organised around names, "PPTH_Cafe", for instance, being an account on all of them. Morbidly curious, he clicked on the video link, and watched a wish-fulfilment version of the cafeteria appear, complete with smiling staff and apparently only one customer. He was about to give up when his eye caught on the address line at the top of the page.

Youtube _channels_ had named IDs.

The _videos_ had ten-character ids made from a random jumble of letters and numbers.

His message was a Youtube video id.

He was being invited to watch something. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The vid opened with a single shot of a candle, burning in a glass holder on a wooden table. The point of view pulled back, showing a bed next to the table (now revealed as a fairly standard night table) and a single bare forearm and hand.

Almost bare; the wrist bore a leather cuff with a soft rope attached. The leather was not the more common black or red, but a warm golden brown. The rope was white cotton, twisted from strands but overall smooth like the tie of a bathrobe, running from the cuff out of sight, presumably tied to the bed's leg.

It was a man's arm, old enough to be fully developed but young enough that the skin was smooth and flawless, none of the scars or spots that come to everyone eventually. _Caucasian male_ , House noted automatically. _Age 20 to 35._

The camera continued to pull back until the entire bed was in view. The double mattress was covered with a plain white cotton sheet, and the man occupying it was bound to all four corners. A black scarf was tied over his hair, bandana-like, and a black domino mask covered the upper part of his face, leaving his eyes and mouth exposed.

Obscuring the hair and part of the features would probably be enough to conceal the man's identity from anyone who happened across the video accidentally, but House knew him. 

Kew him well enough to wonder if the leather cuffs had been chosen to compliment his hair, which ought to be spilling in silky strands to just reach his shoulders. Good shoulders, not bulging with muscles but still fit and well-defined, body tapering to a neat waist above the swell of his ass. It was hard to miss, as the camera closed in slowly on that one feature.

An _amazing_ ass, a perfect, perfect ass. And House knew it. Not in the Biblical sense he suddenly thought of, but he knew it when he saw it. Dr. Robert Chase: Brilliant doctor, occasional conniving bastard, and possessor of what House had always suspected was one heck of a body. 

Which still left the question: who was the other party involved?

~~~~~~~~~~~

The field of view settled on simply Chase's ass and a scatter of ordinary items, such as a few small folded towels and a bowl of water. A pair of hands came into shot, somewhat unexpectedly wearing disposable latex gloves. The gloved hands picked up a towel, dipped it in the bowl, and began cleaning that already spotless ass.

The shot was not, in itself, the least bit erotic. It might as well have been a medical setting as an intimate one, as the hands moved with a professional's precision, meticulously washing each area in turn, lifting and parting the flesh dispassionately to allow access. Yet the man on the bed was so clearly being _prepared_ for something - still unknown - to happen, that House was held completely enthralled. The old warmth - so rare these days - began stirring down low in his groin, and his cock twitched against his boxers.

The hands finished washing, came back to dry, and the gloves were peeled off and discarded. Another towel to clean the gloves' talc from the hands, and then they picked up a small squeeze bottle and carefully poured out a palmful of liquid. 

Oil. Across and back, the hands less clinical this time, skin left glistening despite the minimal lighting of the room, the smooth curves now slick and so appallingly inviting that House groaned aloud at not being able to touch. He hadn't been this aroused just by porn for years, but this scene was getting into his head, or perhaps had already bypassed his mental functions, his lips parting to suck in more air and his cock swelling awkwardly in his jeans.

Forget amazing. That ass was fucking _edible_.

It seemed that the man playing the dominant part agreed with him, as he suddenly moved into the shot, leaning down to bite and nip across all that taunting expanse. He kissed some parts, sucked at others, and once or twice scraped hard enough with his teeth to leave red marks behind, only to come back and soothe the damage with soft, slow licks. 

He was wearing a matching scarf and mask, but House could not possible mistake Wilson. Wilson and Chase. Chase and Wilson. Ropes and candles and oil and biting, white teeth and red lips and gleaming skin and grasping hands. House, aware only of the screen in front of him, unknowingly licked his lips and bared his teeth, almost biting in sync with Wilson as he ravaged Chase's body.

Wilson's motions sped up and became more aggressive, hands now pulling those perfect cheeks apart so he could reach every inch, soiling all that perfection with bruises and scrapes. House's hands tightened as fingers dug into yielding flesh. Chase shifted sideways in his bonds, trying to pull away, but Wilson placed one hand in the middle of his back, calming, without breaking off his determined possession.

Wilson abruptly straightened up, left hand ripping at his flies and yanking out his trapped erection while supporting himself with a right hand firmly planted on Chase. House watched those fingers dig in, saw the muscles jump tautly in his arm, saw Chase jerk in response. Wilson released his grip only to deliver a sharp slap and take hold again, this time with his nails turned inwards, deliberately placed where the skin bloomed redly with inflammation. Chase shuddered but lay still.

Satisfied, Wilson pulled at his shaft, movements rough and jerky, communicating a sweaty desperation House could feel in his own heartbeat. Wilson arched his back, mouth open to pull oxygen, House panting in time. His hips twitched in sympathy with every stroke, so close now...

Three... two... one... - The video cut to black and stopped.

House slammed back into his chair, breath huffing out of his lungs as if he'd been punched in the belly. He reached out reflexively, in an absurd attempt to turn the screen image over, looking for a Side B or a Part 2 or a To Be Continued. He checked the scroll bar and the timestamp displays. The black box on the screen taunted him with a cheery "Replay?" prompt.

He'd watched the entire video. The scroll bar sat at the end. No other videos by this poster. No related videos.

House got up and limped stiffly into the kitchen, bypassing the beer in the fridge and pouring a shot of scotch instead. He came back into the living room and regarded the tableau of couch, coffee table, and laptop. He pressed his hand over the bulge in his crotch, willing it away, but it only throbbed insistently. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hard that it hurt.

He could ignore it if he wanted to; he wasn't eighteen anymore. He could feel his pulse beating, thumping insistently against the pressure of his jeans, feel the sheer _want_ urging him to continue, to squeeze the rare high from the moment. He yielded to the temptation pulling him inwards, freeing himself - with some difficulty - before lowering himself to the couch, reaching out, and clicking 'replay'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And in an apartment about two miles away, Wilson peered at his screen and hit the refresh button on his browser. "Ha!" He said. "Two hits from House's IP address; he's on a rewatch right now."

Chase lifted his beer bottle in an ironic salute before taking a swallow. "I give you about, oh, 48 hours before he works out it was completely scripted, and all the dom/sub interaction is faked. No, make it 36 hours."

"For instance, when he works out that you're the one managing the camera remote?"

"Only fair. Your hands were kind of full, after all."

"I won't bet against you on the timing," Wilson said after a moment's consideration. "But _I_ bet _you_ it won't make any difference." He paused, but Chase only made a _moue_ and declined to argue the point. "If anything, when he works it out he'll be all the more inclined to get involved."

Chase leaned forwards and the two men _clinked_ bottles, smiling disturbingly identical smiles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was twenty-four hours later, and House was on his sixth time through the video. He had - temporarily - passed the stage of being aroused by it, but was still just as intently focused on the screen. As it reached the end, he sat back and frowned.

After a long pause for thought, a smile slowly crept across his face. He stood up and headed for the hall closet. He knew he had put his old video camera in there somewhere.


End file.
